


Stay On My Side (Don't Go)

by sunshinexbomb



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 World Cup of Hockey, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/pseuds/sunshinexbomb
Summary: "I want to see DC,” Hank says, “and I don’t particularly feel like taking a bus.”Nicky rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen everything in DC enough times to last me a lifetime,” he says. “It’s not that exciting. Everything looks just like it does in the pictures - worse even because there’s always construction everywhere.”“That’s not what I meant,” Hank says, kicking out at Nicky’s legs softly. “I’ve seen all that - the monuments and museums. I want to see DC the way that you see it. Your favorite places, places you like to go.”--Or Nicky and Hank spend a day together in DC before Sweden's game against Europe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all can blame [Hann](http://mjanmarks.tumblr.com) for getting me into this rarepair hell, because I've started thinking about it and now I literally can't stop. Also blame Mean Lars for not wanting to show his Tre Kronor boys around DC and Hank for being so god damn beautiful 24/7. Please ignore my timeline flubbing - I'm pretty sure I gave Sweden a day off that they didn't actually have but like, oh well.
> 
> Thank you to Hann and [Julija](http://muzzmurray.tumblr.com/) for the beta! All other mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is a piece of fiction and I'm in no way affiliated with the NHL. If you are please exit out of this work. Title is from fun.'s "Walking the Dog".

Nicky doesn't go home after Tre Kronor's first practice at Kettler. The idea of being there during the off-season is almost daunting, and he doesn't like the thought of being alone after so many days with his family, his teammates. More importantly, there’s his need to compartmentalize, to keep his obligations with Sweden separate from his obligations with the Caps. Being back at Kettler with this team and practicing in his blue and yellow sweater is strange enough. Nicky’s not too superstitious, but the thought of making the familiar drive from his place in Arlington to Kettler and not being met with Ovi's sleepy morning smiles or Andre's bubbly laughter or Braden's calming presence breaks just far enough from his usual routine to make his skin itch with discomfort.

The hotel the team is staying at together isn't far from the practice rink. It’s something standard that he's seen hundreds of times, but it's nice, comfortable, and he's exhausted enough after a long flight and a longer practice to sink into bed and let himself relax for a while. 

Nicky's just beginning to drift off when his phone buzzes on the bedside table, the screen lighting up with the notification of a text message and Hank's name in bold letters. 

_still up?_ the text reads, and Nicky can't help but smile as he answers with his room number.

There's a knock at the door just a few minutes later, and Nicky quickly glances in the mirror, half-heartedly trying to flatten his messy hair before answering. It doesn’t do much, and he gives up quickly when there’s another knock.

Hank's standing there with a large grin, looking comfortable and ridiculously good for someone who’s in an old Rangers t-shirt and pajama bottoms. His hair is soft and ungelled and Nicky sort of wants to run his fingers through the strands that are threatening to fall in his eyes. 

"Surprised you didn't go home," Hank says in greeting, closing the door behind him as he comes into Nicky's room. 

Nicky just shrugs, tugging on Hanks's arm. Hank goes to him easily, responding readily when Nicky presses close to him, pressing their mouths together. There's no urgency in the kiss - it's nice, soft and slow and sweeter than they usually do this, but Nicky's too tired for something heated, and it's comforting just having the familiar feel of Hank's body against his, Hank's arms around his waist and his hands curling into the hair at the nape of Hank's neck. 

"This isn't actually what I came here for," Hank teases, nosing against Nicky's cheek before nipping gently at his jaw. His hands feel large on Nicky’s hips, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt and making Nicky shiver as they ghost gently over his skin.

"Oh, well, you're free to leave then," Nicky answers, knowing very well that Hank won’t be doing that anytime soon now that his mouth has found that soft spot behind Nicky's ear that it always seems to gravitate towards. He knows it’s a weak spot for Nicky too, knows that it makes Nicky practically boneless every time Hank kisses him there. 

"I came to ask you something," Hank says with breathy laughter. "You distracted me before I could."

Judging by the way that Hank's leading Nicky backwards toward the bed, whatever it is he needs to know is probably not actually that urgent. Nicky complies easily, letting Hank press him down into the mattress. Hank looms over him, straddling his waist, and kissing him deeply before starting to move down his neck and across his collarbones. Hank's stubble is a rough pull against Nicky’s skin, one that he’s missed since the last time they had a chance to do this. 

"It's hard to believe that this isn't all that you came here for," Nicky says. Hank's breath is warm when he laughs against Nicky's neck and it makes heat pool in Nicky's belly, simmering softly like a low-burning candle. 

"You're right," Hank says, and Nicky has to resist the urge to whine when Hank shifts positions, rolling over onto his side instead of hovering over Nicky like he has been. Nicky turns towards him, though. It's always hard to stop touching Hank once he starts, and he keeps one hand splayed across Hank's hip, but catches his eyes to show he's listening.

"I want to see DC,” Hank says, “and I don’t particularly feel like taking a bus.”

Nicky rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen everything in DC enough times to last me a lifetime,” he says. “It’s not that exciting. Everything looks just like it does in the pictures - worse even because there’s always construction everywhere.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hank says, kicking out at Nicky’s legs softly. “I’ve seen all that - the monuments and museums. I want to see DC the way that you see it. Your favorite places, places you like to go.”

Nicky thinks about it for a second, Hank’s words settling in his head, processing slowly. He rubs absent-mindedly at the jut of Hank’s hipbone, and tries to imagine it. There are a few places that Nicky likes going, places he always returns to when he needs to clear his head and just breathe and decompress. Picturing Hank in most of those places isn’t too difficult - Hank drinking coffee in his favorite cafe, eating lunch in his favorite restaurant, sunbathing with Nova at his favorite park. It’s a bit harder imagining the two of them doing those things together. Other than official events, they’re rarely in public together, sticking mostly to hiding behind closed doors in hotel rooms the few times a year they’re in the same city together.

“Nils,” Hank says softly, when Nicky’s taken too long to respond, “you can say no if you want. It was just a thought.”

Hank’s forehead is creased and Nicky kisses him quick and soft in consolation. He can’t imagine himself with Hank in those places, but he’d like to be able to, would like to see Hank somewhere without ice and artificial cold or beige walls and crisp white sheets.

“No, that sounds nice,” he says, finally, “I think we have some free time tomorrow since there's no practice. We can go then.”

Hank’s answering smile is brilliant, all crinkled eyes and straight white teeth. It makes Nicky’s stomach swoop, and when Hank kisses him again it’s with a fervor that’s easy for Nicky to immerse himself in.

\--

It starts in Vancouver.

They finish up the preliminaries at the top of their group, winning with a shutout against Finland where Nicky racks up a goal and two assists and Hank gets his second shutout of the tournament. The team celebrates with drinks, and Nicky feels on top of the world, high off the excitement of his first Olympic goal and the promise that they’ve gotten through to the quarterfinals. 

Nicky doesn’t remember the details. There’s no moment that really stands out among the rest. Nicky had played Hank before, played _with_ Hank before, and they’d gotten along as well as any other two members of the team. The only thing that’s different about that night is the amount of drinks Nicky has and the fact that Hank is _there_ , looking at him with dark eyes and flashing that pretty smile of his in Nicky’s direction.

He can probably blame the alcohol, but the truth is, Nicky is young and Hank is gorgeous and already has an Olympic gold under his belt. Even if he was sober, Nicky wouldn’t be able to resist him. Hank spends the night hovering around Nicky, a hand low on his back, his breath hot against Nicky’s skin as he whispers a congratulations for Nicky’s three point game. 

They stumble back up to Nicky’s room from the hotel bar, and Nicky’s quick to press Hank against the door, kissing him quick and dirty. It’s a sloppy kiss, rough and messy, but Hank’s hands tangle in Nicky’s hair and he moans openly when Nicky bites down on his bottom lip.

Nicky can’t say he hasn’t thought about this, but he’s only ever wanted Hank in that vague, abstract way that comes with knowing that Hank is as beautiful off the ice as he is on it. He’s surprised at his own desperation - the heat in his belly and how his dick is already half-hard from rubbing against Hank’s hip.

“Been wanting you since you scored that pretty goal in the second,” Hank mumbles against Nicky’s jaw and Nicky presses himself closer against Hank, finds his mouth in another messy kiss.

Nicky’s quick to get down on his knees, Hank swearing as Nicky undoes his belt, pushing down his pants and briefs in one go. Nicky always loves giving head, loves the feeling of bringing someone to the edge just with his mouth, loves the stretch of his lips and the ache of his jaw. He loves it moreso now when he’s a bit tipsy and Hank’s holding back his hair, tugging on it just hard enough that it goes straight to Nicky’s cock. 

The weight of Hank is heavy on Nicky’s tongue, and the whole thing starts to get sloppy when Nicky chokes at the stutter of Hank’s hips as he tries to stop himself from fucking too hard into Nicky’s mouth. Nicky looks up, moaning around Hank’s dick when he catches sight of Hank’s hooded eyes and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. The vibrations make Hank curse, a stuttered, “Fuck, _Nicky_ -” before he’s coming down Nicky’s throat, the last of it catching on Nicky’s mouth as he comes off Hank’s cock.

Hank’s breathing hard, slumped loose-limbed against the wall, but Nicky’s still desperately hard against the zipper of his jeans. Nicky’s knees are sore as he gets up, wiping off his wrecked mouth, but he’s quick to kiss Hank again, Hank kissing back more languidly than Nicky wants or needs at that moment.

“Not gonna repay the favor?” Nicky asks, breathing heavily against Hank’s mouth.

Hank laughs, a soft thing that makes Nicky’s belly squirm. “Of course I will - I’m a gentleman, aren’t I?”

Hank gets Nicky off on his bed, fingering him open with one hand and using the other to stroke his cock with quick, hard pulls. Nicky’s a bit overwhelmed, the heat in his belly curling tight and hot, and he doesn’t know whether to fuck himself down on Hank’s skilled fingers or fuck into the tight grip around his cock. He doesn’t have to worry about it for too long, though - Nicky comes hard and fast, toes curling and streaking white across his belly when Hank curls his fingers to that spot that always makes heat run up Nicky’s spine. 

They stay there in Nicky’s bed for a little while, Nicky settling up against Hank’s side after he’s used his shirt to clean up his stomach. They’re mostly quiet, still drunk and loose from their orgasms. Nicky feels content with Hank’s fingers running through his hair and he’s a bit disappointed when Hank drags himself out of bed, kissing Nicky’s forehead.

“Don’t need your roommate walking in on us, do we?” Hank asks with a small laugh.

“He’ll probably be too out of it to know the difference,” Nicky jokes weakly, even though he knows that Hank’s right. 

Hank kisses Nicky quick and sweet before he leaves, more of a _I can’t wait to do this again_ than the _thank you for a fun night_ that Nicky was expecting.

\--

It does happen again. They’re all disappointed after their early quarterfinal exit that year, and Nicky doesn’t expect the night to end with Hank knocking on his door and later fucking him roughly into the mattress. It happens again and again, after games in New York and Washington and during off-seasons in Sweden and during Sochi when Nicky is so, so desperate to get out of his head after the ugliness with his disqualification from the games. 

They’re not together. They date other people when they can, but Nicky always finds himself drifting back towards Hank. The sex is always great - hot and desperate and, fuck, Hank is just gorgeous and attentive that there’s no way it wouldn’t be. But more than that, it’s the fact that being with him feels safe, natural. Hank’s there when Nicky needs him, someone Nicky can turn to when he needs a gentle guiding hand or a soft smile or just familiar Swedish vowels flowing into something that feels like home.

Nicky feels lucky to have Hank with him here in Washington, both of them in Tre Kronor blue for once instead of Nicky facing him down with a stick in his hand and the determination to get the puck past his defenses. It’s definitely a different dynamic, being in Kettler and messing around with not only Hank, but guys like Carl and Patric who Nicky never would’ve thought he’d take to the ice with at this particular rink. Things have been going smoothly, the team starting to come together and build more chemistry, but Nicky is grateful for the day off, a day to get him out of the weird head-space he’s settled into since landing in Dulles.

Nicky’s still half-asleep when Hank comes to his room early, holding a takeout cup of tea that Nicky accepts gratefully. Despite their schedule of early morning practices, Nicky’s still not a morning person, always getting off to a slow start to the day, and something in his chest tightens a bit because Hank’s thought of that before coming up here. The tea is sweet and warm just like he likes it, and Nicky feels a bit more awake after a couple of sips.

“We could have waited until later in the day if you wanted to sleep in,” Hank teases as they head out, Nicky still quiet and a bit bleary-eyed and Nicky just shoots him in glare in return.

“Better to get out before it’s too crowded - or too hot,” Nicky mumbles.

Hank laughs, but he’s quiet as Nicky drives them out of Arlington and onto familiar streets that lead into DC. It’s a comfortable silence, Hank singing softly to the radio while Nicky tries to plan out their day, places to go, things he wants Hank to see. Nicky’s been in Washington almost ten years now, and there are lot of things in the city that he loves and that mean something to him, but it’d be impossible to see them all. This is a much more personal tour than Nicky’s ever had to give, something vastly different from hitting a few tourist traps and taking pictures that won’t be looked at again. Nicky’s determined to do it right since he’s agreed to do it at all - he wants to leave Hank with a good impression of the city, a good impression of the life that Nicky’s built here. 

They end up starting with breakfast near Dupont Circle at a small bookstore that doubles as a cafe in the back. It’s not awfully busy on a weekday morning, and Nicky’s grateful when they manage to grab a table in the corner that feels cozy and private.

“I used to come here a lot,” Nicky explains as Hank peruses over the menu. “It gets busy at night, but never overwhelming so, you know? It was a good place to get away, read a book, grab a drink. Nylander took me here when I first started.”

“It’s nice,” Hank says with a smile. “I can definitely see you here. Now, what do you recommend off this menu?”

Breakfast is simple, easy. Nicky likes the table they’ve picked, how the way the the early morning light comes in through the window, illuminating Hank's sharp features. They contrast with his again ungelled hair and t-shirt, making him look soft and comfy. It's a bit strange seeing Hank like this, casually sitting across from him on the other side of the table. They go out to dinner sometimes, usually after games in New York, but for once, it’s Hank sitting somewhere where Nicky is completely in his element. The whole thing feels almost familiar, like something they’ve done hundreds of times, even if they haven’t done it before at all. 

They mostly talk about the upcoming game, what to expect from playing Europe and how practice might be looking for some of the other teams. Hank keeps his ankle hooked around Nicky's the whole while under the table, and Nicky appreciates the solid weight of it, a point of contact that's subtle and comforting. 

“We can look around a bit here if you want,” Nicky suggests as they’re finishing up. “I always manage to find some fun stuff.”

“That sounds good,” Hank agrees. “Don’t know when I’ll have time to read anything anytime soon, but I’ve never denied myself a good book.”

Nicky's a bit disappointed at the loss of Hank's ankle underneath the table when they get up, but Hank keeps close to him as they walk around the bookshop. Hank’s shoulder is always pressed against Nicky's, or he keeps a hand on the small of Nicky’s back when they're picking out books together. Nicky wishes they could stay here a little longer, could curl up together in one of the nooks where people sit and pass the time. Nicky aches for a day where he can sit tucked under Hank’s arm, leaning against his chest, both of them in comfortable silence as Hank reads and Nicky finishes his morning crossword puzzle. The idea is almost too much of a dream, like it could never happen, at least not anytime soon.

They find a bin of discount books in the back of the store, and Hank snorts out a laugh while rifling through them. Nicky looks at him curiously as he picks something out of the bin.

"Think I should get this?" Hank asks, holding up relatively thin paperback with Ovi's name and a picture of his toothless smile on the front. The words _Unofficial Alexander Ovechkin Biography_ blare across the cover in obnoxious bold lettering that’s somehow incredibly fitting for who Ovi is.

Nicky rolls his eyes, but can't help but smile. "I can assure you he probably already bought it himself. You can give it to him when we play Russia, though. He'll get a laugh out of it."

They walk out of the bookstore with a few things, Hank with Ovi's biography and Nicky with a few novels that he can add to his collection of unread books that seems to grow every time he comes down to the store.

"Where to next?" Hank asks. His hand brushes against Nicky’s as they walk, and Nicky’s itching to reach out and grab it. 

"Park maybe? There's one nearby," Nicky says, thinking about where they are. "I haven't really planned this out very well," he admits with a small laugh. 

Hank’s answering smile is bright and brilliant, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. "Park sounds nice. Anything you want to do today, Nils, I'm fine with it.”

It's gotten hotter outside, DC summer heat and humidity pressing down on them, but it’s easier to ignore than usual with Hank walking beside him, asking Nicky questions about DC and what he spends his time doing on off-days and what he likes most about the city.

“It feels like home now, doesn’t it?” Hank asks. “That’s how I feel about New York. I can’t ever imagine playing in another city, even though I know that there’s never any certainties.”

“I didn’t think I’d fall in love with the city as fast as I did,” Nicky says honestly. “It was a big adjustment. But I’ve met good people here, made good friends. The fans are great, passionate. I can’t imagine myself anywhere else either.”

The park is a small local one, mostly empty now that DC public schools are back in session. There’s some younger kids around with nannies or parents, but other than that, it’s just Nicky and Hank walking along the paved trail, hands still brushing occasionally until they find a place to sit.

“I come running here sometimes,” Nicky says as they settle under a large oak farther into the park. “It’s easier to clear my head when I’m outside than when I’m in a gym or running on the treadmill at home. It’s a good place to come the morning after a bad game when I have a bit of steam to blow off.”

“You don’t get stopped if you’re here?” Hank asks curiously. He’s sitting, shoulder pressed against Nicky’s, his eyes closed, looking content with his head leaned back against the trunk of the tree. 

“Not usually,” Nicky shrugs. “It happens occasionally, but I’m not Ovi, I’m not in the public eye as much.”

Nicky wonders for a second what this scene would be like if they were two different people, if they’d met somewhere else, maybe in some smaller town in Sweden instead of first coming face-to-face in an arena filled with twenty thousand screaming fans. Nicky wonders if they could’ve had more summer days like this, relaxing in the sun, Hank’s head maybe in Nicky’s lap so Nicky could run his fingers through his soft hair. The idea makes Nicky’s chest tight and achey. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever have that, if it’s even something Hank wants or has thought about. Nicky loves his life, wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world, but it’s not easy, nothing about it is easy, and sometimes it’s just _nice_ imagining a life that is simpler, a life that’s just him and Hank and lazy kisses under the summer sun.

\--

They leave the park when the sun gets higher in the sky, heat rising enough that Nicky starts to feel sweat forming hot and tacky against his back. Nicky’s starting to feel gross and sticky in the humidity, but of course Hank still looks perfect, barely a gleam of sweat on his forehead and his hair still perfectly in place. Nicky doesn’t understand how he does it.

True to Hank’s request, Nicky continues taking him to his favorite places, thinking of most of them as they walk around and Nicky passes by familiar sights. 

He shows him the small art gallery that him and Greenie stumbled across one night their rookie year. It's photography mostly, black and white shots by some amateur photographer who scraped together enough for a basement studio. Nicky knows nothing about art, but the photographs are usually just intriguing enough to keep his interest, and him and Greenie would stop by when they could, to check out new pieces. 

Hank looks around him in curiosity as they walk around, but Nicky spends most of his time watching Hank, taking in the long lines of his face, the soft smile that plays on his lips when he finds something he particularly enjoys. He laughs for ages when he finds a print of a dog covered head to tail in Caps merchandise, and buys it despite Nicky’s protests. 

“Looks just like you,” Hank insists, holding up the golden retriever pup next to Nicky. Nicky doesn't see the resemblance. 

“It’s wearing the wrong number,” he grumbles, face hot as he points to the white number eight on its back. The girl at the register giggles at them both, and Nicky’s sure she knows exactly who they are and is just too polite to say something about it.

Afterwards, they go to lunch at a restaurant in Georgetown that Nicky used to take Marcus and later Andre when they were feeling homesick. It’s small, locally owned, and has some of the best comfort food that DC has to offer. The owners recognize Nicky right away, making space for him and Hank at Nicky’s favorite table and pattering away in quick Swedish when they realize Hank speaks the language too. 

“Nicklas never brings dates here,” their waitress says, making Nicky’s cheeks turn red. “We were worried he would just end up stuck by himself in that big old house of his.”

“Oh no, it’s not -” Nicky starts, but Hank interrupts with a laugh and a brilliant smile.

“I’m honored to be the first,” he says, ankle pressing against Nicky’s again just like at breakfast. Nicky’s face gets even hotter, but he doesn’t correct Hank, letting himself pretend for just a second that that’s exactly what they’re here for - a date, a real one, just the two of them. 

They grab dessert at a place that Brooks used to love, and walk around Georgetown with their fingers sticky with melted ice cream. Hank’s mouth is pink from his scoop of handmade strawberry, and Nicky has to keep his eyes trained ahead so he’s not too tempted to kiss the sweetness out of Hank’s mouth.

Their last stop is a record shop on U-Street that makes Hank’s eyes light up as soon as they step through the door.

“You come here?” Hank asks, a bit surprised.

Nicky laughs and explains, “No, but Greenie used to. It was one of his favorite places in the city. I would tag along sometimes when no one else agreed to go with him.”

“Why are we here then?” Hank asks, head tilted a bit in curiousity.

Nicky flushes and shrugs. “Just thought you would like it. I’ve actually, uh, thought about bringing you here before,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck a bit in embarrassment. “Just always thought about how much you would enjoy it whenever I was here.”

Hank’s face softens and he kisses Nicky quick and soft and so, so sweet. Nicky’s caught off-guard, but they’re hidden in the back corner of the store, no one else around. Nicky risks a deeper kiss, tilting his head to the side a bit, and when they part he feels just as dazed as Hank looks. 

“Thank you, Nils,” Hank says, kissing Nicky’s knuckles tenderly. “This day has been everything I hoped it would be.”

“Me too,” Nicky says, and he’s glad to find he means it.

\--

When they get back to the hotel, Hank follows Nicky back up to his room where they lay in Nicky’s bed, kissing slow and lazy until Nicky feels his mouth getting sore from it. They don't get to do this as often as Nicky likes, and it's exactly what he needs after a long day out. Nicky's been aching to touch Hank the whole day, to show him how surprisingly happy this day has made him, because he's never been particularly good at expressing himself with his words. 

While they kiss, Nicky slips a hand under Hank’s shirt, fingers ghosting over the flat planes of his abs, enjoying the contraction of his muscles as Nicky sucks on his neck, just low enough that it won’t be visible under his gear. 

“Really enjoyed this day, Nicky,” Hank murmurs. “Next time, I’m going to show you New York. Repay the favor.”

“I’d like that,” Nicky says while pulling Hank’s shirt over his head. It joins Nicky’s on the floor and Nicky lies on top of Hank, skin on and skin and their legs tangled together.

He wants that more than anything, he realizes. To see the place that Hank calls home, see the things that make up his life, gain that extra insight. Nicky understands why Hank asked for this day. 

Nothing they do is rushed or hurried. Nicky’s taking his time, kissing Hank’s mouth, his sharp jawline, down the long column of his throat. Nicky’s starting to harden in his shorts, but there’s nothing urgent about it, and he’s content with rubbing lazily against Hank’s hip as he starts to leave a trail of kisses lower, down Hank's chest and stomach.

Nicky opens Hank up slowly, sucking on the head of Hank’s dick while he presses his fingers farther back. Hank’s always tense and tight at first, not relaxing until Nicky gets two fingers deep with Hank’s cock farther in his mouth. By the time Nicky gets the third finger in, Hank’s pulling at Nicky’s hair, begging him to get on with it, to fuck him, and well, Nicky’s never been one to deny Hank anything.

“How much of the day did you spend thinking about this?” Hank asks, breathing out heavily when Nicky starts pushing into him.

Nicky just kisses Hank in response, both of their mouths going slack as Nicky bottoms out. He has been thinking of this all day, and they both know it. Hank is tight and hot around him and god, sometimes Nicky can’t _breathe_ with how much he wants him, still wants him, even after all this time. 

Nicky takes things a bit faster as he fucks into Hank, hips snapping at the angle that he knows makes Hank moan, low and absolutely filthy. He mumbles into Hank’s neck, sweet nothings and repeated reassurances of “so good, so good for me, Henke, feel so tight,” until Hank’s coming between them, Nicky following not long after.

“Thank you again for today,” Hank says, kissing Nicky before he can pull out. The kiss is deep and sweet, Nicky sinking into the feeling of Hank all around him, of him still in Hank, the two of them as physically close as they can get. 

“I’m glad I could make it good for you,” Nicky says, unsure if he means the day, or the sex, or just everything they’ve been doing, everything they’ve gone through together so far. 

Whatever Nicky meant, Hank understands as he lets Nicky get up with a last quick kiss.

After he gets them cleaned up, Nicky cuddles back up under the covers with Hank. When he curls into Hank’s side, Nicky's glad to have Hank like this, even if it's not exactly how he wishes things were. They could have more one day, Nicky's sure of it, but for now, this is enough. It’s familiar and comfortable, Nicky feeling safe with Hank’s hand in his hair, with his fingers tracing patterns down Nicky’s spine. Nicky's just glad that now, when he wakes up, Hank is still there, pressed up warm and solid against his side. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. I'm always free to talk about Tre Kronor lovin' on [twitter](http://twitter.com/tjoshov) and [tumblr](http://tjoshov.tumblr.com)


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